


Until It Hurts

by faikitty



Category: Karneval
Genre: Breathplay, Desk Sex, M/M, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 08:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4013320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikitty/pseuds/faikitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Akari doesn't know won't hurt him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until It Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this over two months ago but completely forgot about it until now. Ironically, this was written half a year after an anon asked for it on Tumblr because I had no inspiration and then completely forgot about it. Again. Oops?

“You know Akari will kill us if he finds us in here,” Hirato mutters even as Tsukitachi hoists him onto their colleague’s desk. The brunet’s legs tighten around his lover’s waist when Tsukitachi kisses him hard, biting at Hirato’s lips until they’re bruised. Hirato leans into the kiss until the sting becomes too much and forces him to break the contact; Tsukitachi never does, preferring to stay pressed up against Hirato as long as possible in the short amount of time they have for these sorts of things. When Hirato finally pulls away with a sharp, involuntary catch of breath, Tsukitachi only slides his lips down to trace along his jaw instead.

“He’ll be in a meeting for awhile longer. We’ll just have to do this quickly,” Tsukitachi breathes against Hirato’s skin, dipping down to kiss the hollow of his throat and trace his collarbones with his tongue. “You don’t mind that, do you?” He often teases Hirato for being formal—albeit less so than their doctor counterpart—especially with his clothes. Hirato is rarely seen with his clothes in any sort of disarray, his shirt buttoned all the way to the top and his tie secured tightly around his neck. But at times like this, Hirato knows Tsukitachi is grateful for it. God knows  _he_  is. The First Ship’s captain doesn’t have to worry about leaving marks because he knows they won’t be visible, so he slips the buttons out and leaves bruises in their place, as much a brand of ownership that Hirato intends to return as a mark of affection.

“If I did, I would invite you to my quarters late at night with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of roses,” Hirato responds smoothly, remarkably so considering how rapidly his heart is racing beneath Tsukitachi’s touch. “Then I could easily monopolize you.” He undoes Tsukitachi’s pants as he speaks, slipping his fingers past the other man’s boxers to curl them loosely around his cock and slide slow up to thumb over the tip.

“I’m hurt that you haven’t already,” Tsukitachi says, a bit less steadily than Hirato. He  _must_  know they’re in a hurry, but he still doesn’t seem inclined to move quickly. He drags his hand down, popping open the buttons of Hirato’s shirt, his fingers playing at the waistband of his pants instead of opening them. His hand drifts a few inches lower to palm Hirato through the fabric, working him hard with a frustrating amount of care.

They’re only doing this satisfy an ache, a carnal urge that they can’t fight, and Hirato wishes Tsukitachi would forgo such pointless foreplay. It isn’t long before the friction isn’t nearly enough for him, his own hand tightening ever so slightly on Tsukitachi’s cock. He can feel the other man twitch in his grasp and he stills his steady movements in favor of cupping Tsukitachi’s chin and leaning back to gaze at him over the rim of his glasses. “You could always do that for me, you know,” he suggests as Tsukitachi’s lips curve up in a smile.

“I could,” he agrees, “but then we wouldn’t have to steal away in secret like this. It wouldn’t be as fun then.”

“You—” Hirato’s words melt into a satisfied groan as Tsukitachi finally frees him, the feeling of an actual hand around his cock instead of scratchy fabric so much better that he swells all the harder at the other man’s touch. “Mm. You actually might be right.”

Tsukitachi offers another smile as Hirato’s hand falls from his face, returning to brush over his cock once more. He ducks his head to bite once again at the other man’s collarbones, already darkening into purple bruises beneath his teeth.

Hirato has had enough of that. He twists his hand through Tsukitachi’s scarf and pulls until it’s tight enough around his neck that Hirato can jerk it back and take the man with it. Tsukitachi’s head snaps up, heated eyes locking with Hirato’s while the scarf is pulled ever tighter, his face darkening red with lack of oxygen and pleasure at once. The motions of his fingers slow but don’t stop entirely, and Hirato waits until they nearly halt to release his grip. “Hurry it up.”

Tsukitachi coughs several times as oxygen flows back into his lungs, his hand going to the red line around his throat, but if anything, he’s harder than before, and Hirato can’t help but smirk at that. “Have you become a sadist, Hirato?” Tsukitachi manages to ask as his face returns to a normal shade.

Hirato lifts a brow and twirls the end of the scarf through his fingers. “Hardly. But Akari could well turn into one if he catches us in here.” He quirks a brow at Tsukitachi and tugs lightly on the scarf.

Tsukitachi stands back and lifts his arms in passivity. “Turn over then,” he orders.

Hirato obeys, his eyes closing in complacency that he doesn’t quite feel. But when he’s pressed against the solid desk, Tsukitachi pulling out a bottle of lube—Hirato thinks he must  _always_  carry that on him—and pulling down his pants to slick a finger inside, it hardly matters that he’s taking a command from the other captain. It does hurt, but that doesn’t make it  _bad_. Tsukitachi should be going more slowly, and they both know it, Hirato from the pain it brings alone and Tsukitachi from the choked sounds that fall past the other man’s lips. But he can’t go slowly, can’t waste time working Hirato open slowly and drawing pleasure from his bones to leave him shaking. They spent too long bantering, and now they have to hurry with the actual act. Tsukitachi is never one to be gentle with him anyway, and Hirato would be offended if he were. The burn is the good kind as Tsukitachi works him open, heat from the other man’s fingers spreading throughout his whole body and making him feel feverish.

Honestly, Hirato doesn’t really mind that much when they’re in a hurry. He hates the pause as Tsukitachi pulls out his fingers, the only sounds his own heavy breathing and his pulse rushing through his head. He gives a hiss when Tsukitachi first slides in, more pain than pleasure, but as Tsukitachi repeats the motion again and again the two become interchangeable. His muffled sounds go from hurt to pleasure to nothing, as he tries to keep them in to avoid being caught, nothing but a soft moan escaping his lips every so often. When Tsukitachi shifts and grabs his hips to pull Hirato back as much as himself forward, Hirato’s nails drag along the wood below him before he forces his hand up to grab the edge of the desk. He can’t tip his hips forward or back himself, but Tsukitachi more than does enough on his own. Hirato manages to swipe his glasses from his face before he gives up on keeping his head raised, his breath coming hot and ragged as he rests his cheek against the cool desk. It does nothing to calm the swell of heat in his blood, doesn’t help to stop his hushed groans.

Yes, they’re rushed, but the animalistic desperation, the act of just having  _sex_ without  _thinking_  about it, only makes it better.

Tsukitachi fits his hand against Hirato’s back, presses down on it to keep him steady against the desk, reaching around with the other one to run over the other man’s cock. The action makes Hirato jerk up half an inch before settling once more, both hands clutching at the edge of the desk like he’s trying to keep from being pulled away.

He doesn’t need to be able to see Tsukitachi to know what he looks like right now. He can  _feel_  what the First Ship’s captain looks like, the way his fingers brace against the hard curve of Hirato’s spine, the faint trembling of his steady motions, the harshness of his pants. Tsukitachi’s face is as flushed with effort as his own, Hirato is sure; he can see in his mind the small droplets of sweat that are running over his skin and the dusty shadow cast over his cheeks by his half-lidded eyes.

Tsukitachi draws his fingers up over Hirato’s cock once more in time with his thrusts, and Hirato gives a gasp and comes over Tsukitachi’s fingers, his breath all going out of him at once. In the back of his mind, he recognizes that will be a mess he’ll have to clean up, but for now he goes limp beneath Tsukitachi, the other man still thrusting into him in even time like he’s a doll made for this very purpose. He can hear the rough edge to Tsukitachi’s breathing that tells him he’s close, and he doesn’t protest when the other man shudders and spills hot and sticky inside of him.

Hirato takes a number of measured breaths before straightening and tugging his pants back up. Tsukitachi’s face is blurred, but even without his glasses Hirato can see the warmth on his face that always follows sex. “You should go,” he says, setting his glasses back on his nose to see Tsukitachi gazing amiably at him. “Akari will be all the more suspicious if he finds us together in his office.”

“He’ll be suspicious regardless,” Tsukitachi reasons. “You know our lovely doctor is too perceptive for his own good.”

Hirato sighs. “If you’ll leave now, I’ll come by your room tonight with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of roses.” He gives a suggestive smile, far more so than any other expression he’s worn today. “Perhaps I’ll even bring Akari along.”

“In that case, I’ll leave immediately.”


End file.
